


So I'll love whatever you become and forget the reckless things we've done

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Series: 31 Days of Jonsa [11]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys is queen of the Iron Throne, F/M, Future Fic, Post-Canon, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, no (past) Jonerys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-24 01:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: She first sees Jon at the welcoming feast, all dressed in black, the Targaryen sigil adorning his doublet and it makes her feel sick to her stomach. She flees to the Godswood, which was always her refuge in the Red Keep.Written for Day 17 of 31 Days of Jonsa - BetrayalTitle from Muse's 'Falling away with you'





	So I'll love whatever you become and forget the reckless things we've done

The invitation comes on a rainy summer morning. Sansa stares at the sigil on the letter before breaking the seal. She's been dreading receiving a message such as this. 

She recognizes Daenerys Targaryen's own handwriting, summoning her to attend a midsummer festival in King's Landing.

There's a letter from Jon accompanying the message, in which he apologizes and tells her he's looking forward to finally seeing her again nonetheless, but he doesn't offer her any kind of explanation. It's much shorter and more formal than his usual letters.

Her eyes travel back and forth over Daenerys' words, reading between the lines that a refusal will be poorly received.

The Dragon Queen has always lacked talent for the courtesies expected of any lady, even one of her rank, but Sansa supposes feeling entitled comes with being able to command dragons.

Sansa is a queen in her own right, meaning no one has the power to summon her anywhere, but she knows to Daenerys, her title holds little weight. She crossed the Narrow Sea to reign over Seven Kingdoms, not six, and in her mind, she still does.

It's a tenuous peace Jon has managed to negotiate between the two queens, and Sansa ponders for a long time whether declining this invitation would be worth the consequences.

Winter is over, but both realms are still recovering from the hardships it brought and the wars that have ravaged the continent for years.

Daenerys can't afford another war, but she's proud, and she's never had a good sense of realism. She'd rather try to bend reality to her own will than accept it when it doesn't suit her.

The North can't risk the ire of a dragon, and Sansa can't be sure Jon would be able to temper his Aunt's more violent inclinations if it came to that, so she accepts.

***

It's Tyrion Lannister who welcomes her at the gates and accompanies her to the Red Keep. Her body tenses up at the sight of him. She knows Daenerys must have ulterior motives for inviting her to the capital, and seeing him raises the hairs on the back of her neck.

He greets her warmly and she returns his greeting with cool politeness. His answering smirk twists his maimed face into an even more hideous mask. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but thinks better of it and resorts to shaking his head as he mutters something unintelligible under his breath. It doesn't comfort her at all.

Tyrion meeting her at he gates has not only raised her suspicions, it's left her feeling somewhat disappointed. She hadn't really allowed herself to hope, but she realizes it was of little use. She'd expected it to be Jon greeting her there anyway.

She engages her former husband in idle conversation, attempting to pry some information from him whenever she sees an opportunity, but he remains tight-lipped. 

"I'd been hoping to see my cousin Jon here this morning," she tells him, hoping being direct will draw a reaction from him.

"I'm afraid _Prince Aegon_ ," he corrects her with a poignant look, "was needed elsewhere."

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. She might do it if it was only Tyrion here, something tells her he might even join her. But they're surrounded by members of the City Watch, Unsullied troops and Dothraki bloodriders. She won't take any risks around these people.

***

Having arrived in her chambers, she decides to take a nap first. Tyrion has informed her there will be a welcoming feast in her honour tonight. She's still on edge, but she needs some rest, and she's taught her body to be able to sleep whenever it's necessary a long time ago.

She isn't used to the heat of the capital anymore, but the sheets on her bed are cool and clean, she has trustworthy and Brienne guarding her door, and she's brought one of her own maids from Winterfell, who's currently in the antechamber.

She closes her eyes and relaxes her body by breathing in and out in a soothing rhythm, and soon she falls asleep.

_She finds him in the crypts, on his knees in front of Aunt Lyanna's statue. She's made Bran tell her the truth. She needed to know what had made Jon so upset he'd completely withdrawn and refused to talk to anyone, not even Arya._

_She's never seen him cry before, but tears are still drying on his cheeks now, and his eyes are red and raw._

_She kneels beside him and reaches for his hand, twining their fingers together. "So you finally know," she whispers, glancing up at the stone effigy towering over them._

_His grip on her hand tightens and she can feel a tremor pass through his body. "I used to have nightmares about this place," he croaks out. "Voices whispering I didn't belong here... And now I finally know why."_

_The last word comes in a broken sob and he crumbles against her. She holds him, cradling him in her arms as if he's a babe, until he doesn't have any tears left._

_"I have something for you," she tells him when it's been quiet for a while. She takes his hand again and puts the tiny weirwood wolf in his palm._

_He studies it, running his thumb over its paws and back, blinking as he takes in the red eyes. She doesn't miss his sharp intake of breath when he sees the words she's had engraved in it._

**_You still are to me_ **

_He pulls her close, embracing her this time, and presses a kiss to her temple._

***

She's donned a heavy gown made of white silk and grey Myrish lace with dozens of sapphires sewn into the bodice. Her shoulders are bare and the dagged sleeves are so long they almost touch the floor. She'd never wear anything this extravagant back home, but she understands the necessity of it at the Southron court. She's kept her hair loose though, only braiding the front parts back and holding them together with a silver direwolf pin. 

Daenerys' attire is even more flamboyant. The black bodice of her dress resembles a breastplate, but it's encrusted with at least a hundred rubies. It flares into layers of crimson skirts from her hips down, sporting a black overskirt that's open at the front and flows into a long train at the back. The gown has no sleeves, only shoulderpads, which makes it look even more like armour, and her intricately braided hair is piled up on top of her head, her crown resembling three dragons coiling around her temples.

She's a vision, but heads still turn when Sansa walks up to greet her. They exchange pleasantries, Daenerys clearly putting in an effort to extend her the proper courtesies, and then they're both pulled away, all the guests vying for both of the queens' attentions.

She's talked to at least half a dozen people and is on her second cup of watered wine when she finally sees him. He's still dressed all in black, but his clothes look more expensive and delicate than the wools and leathers he always used to wear. He's still wearing gloves and his beard is short and neatly trimmed, but his dark curls are flowing down his shoulders from underneath the silver circlet on his brow.

He turns and her heart skips a beat as their eyes lock, his jaw unclenching and his face softening as he takes her in. She can't look away and neither can he, or so it would seem. She almost forgets to breathe as they stand there staring at each other from across the room, but then he starts closing the distance between them, and her her eyes fall on the large three-headed dragon adorning his doublet.

Her stomach churns and she averts her eyes, desperately looking for an escape. Without thinking she picks up her skirts and starts running, not minding where her feet are carrying her until she discovers she's ended up in the Godswood.

Too soon she hears soft footsteps approaching, not needing to look up to know it's him. "Sansa," he calls out, and she can't help but look up.

His face lights up and he whispers. "I've missed you so much, Sansa." He tries to close the distance between them, but she lifts her chin and throws him an icy look.

"I'm sure you've had enough on your mind to keep you from thinking about me too much, Prince Aegon," she retorts.

His eyebrows knit together. "Sansa?"

"Pray excuse me, Lord Targaryen, I came here to escape the heat and the crowd. I really wish to be alone for a while." She curtsied and tried to turn away from him, but he caught her by the wrist.

"Sansa, what's the matter? You never called me any of that nonsense in your letters!" He seems annoyed but genuinely baffled, which only stokes up her anger.

"Oh, nonsense is it alright?" she fumes. "Then what's this?" She waves a hand at the dragon on his chest.

She rolls her eyes when he actually glances down to see what she's talking about and sighs. 

"She's made a dragon out of you!"

"No, of course not!" He's still got her wrist in a firm but gentle hold and he tries to pull her closer, but she resists, so he releases her and sighs. "It's true, Dany wants me to be a dragon. She's given me a name and clothes."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "So that's it?  _Dany_ has given you a name."

He clenches his fists, pursing his lips. "No, you're not listening! That's not what I meant! It's just a name and some clothes! I don't particularly like it, but it means a lot to her..." 

She shakes her head and stares at him, awaiting a further explanation. She's unsure how this information is supposed to comfort her.

"I thought you of all people would understand! I never wanted to be a Targaryen!" He reaches into his doublet and takes her hand, placing the small white wolf she gifted him years ago into her palm. "I always carry this with me. I take it out and look at the words when this gets... difficult."

 _You still are to me._ "Oh, Jon," she whispers. "I'm sorry, I-" She gives the wolf back to him and he tucks it back into his doublet.

He takes her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm doing all of this for our home, Sansa, for our people, for you."

She blinks away a tear and says: "I've missed you, too." Finally, they embrace, and she can feel her entire body relax.

"Your hair is so long!" she laughs when they part.

He runs a hand through it. "You're not around to cut it for me anymore," he chuckles.

She remembers he was always extremely particular about other people touching his hair. "It looks good on you," she admits. "But I'll cut it if you want. I should be able to find a free moment for you while I'm here."

"We'll see," he shrugs, and then sighs. "Sansa, I'm sorry you had to come back here."

She nods. "I considered declining your Aunt's invitation, but I- I couldn't risk it."

"A wise decision," he says, pursing his lips. "She's still displeased with you and the Northern situation."

She frowns at him. "Then why did she want me to come here?"

He offers her his arm and she loops her own through it as they start strolling through the Godswood. "I'd hoped you wouldn't have to come here at all. I wanted to return home for this, but she insisted. She'd like to have you here for the announcement. I thought it wise not to push it after I'd finally convinced her."

"You lost me, Jon," she answers him. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"I don't know where to begin," he admits.

"Just start at the beginning," she suggests, squeezing his elbow.

She can feel his shoulders expand as he takes a deep breath. "Daenerys has had many lovers over the years, but she hasn't been able to conceive so far. So she wants me..."

"She wants you to provide her with an heir," she finishes for him.

"She does, and she expects me to wed some Southron lady who only cares about my title. I don't know if I can do that, Sansa, not after everything..." He lets his words trail off.

She pities him. More than that, a fierce protectiveness bubbles up inside her chest, and she bites her lip in concentration, trying to think of another solution. She's experienced the reality of this firsthand, and she knows Jon deserves better, after everything he's been through, after everything he's done.

"Can't you try to put it off for a couple more years? With a little more time, she might still have a child of her own. And if not, you could come home to Winterfell. We'd need more time, but eventually we could-"

"Sansa," he interrupts her. "I do want to come home to Winterfell, but not... You see, I reckoned that..." He comes to a halt and turns to face her.

"I think I've found another solution, which could make things better for everyone."

She looks up at him expectantly.

He takes both of her hands in his. "Sansa, will you marry me?"

She blinks. "Oh."

He clears his throat. "I- I know this must be far from what you've always dreamed about, but... I swear I'd be good to you. You told me about the troubles you've had with your suitors.  You'd never have to worry about your husband trying to take your crown or your title. And I could spend most of my time in Winterfell, with all of you. It took some time to convince Dany, but I'm sure she can see the merit of it, how it could unite the North and the South, and..."

Her smile grows as he rambles on and finally she takes pity on him, squeezing his fingers and saying his name. "Jon, I'd like that very much," she tells him.

"You would?" His voice rises with surprise and joy, she thinks.

"My parents didn't know each other when they were wed," she muses. "But eventually they came to love each other. We already share trust and respect and familiarity, and at least some form of love, which is so much more than most people can say."

His answering smile is almost childlike.

She steps closer to wrap her arms around his waist and rest her head on his shoulder. "I think we'd make a good match."

His hand moves up to rub her arm. "So you're accepting?"

"I am." She glances up to meet his eyes. "Yes, Jon, I will marry you."

HIs arms pull her closer and he presses a kiss to her temple, murmuring: "When you leave again, I'm coming with you."

 

 

 

 


End file.
